


The Angel Investigations Epic Bonding Pool Party

by zahnie



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Declarations Of Love, Drinking Games, F/M, False Memories, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pansexual Character, Party, Queer Character, Recovered Memories, Swimming Pools, or at least declarations of the potential for love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 22:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18787630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahnie/pseuds/zahnie
Summary: Lorne is trying to drink his sorrows away (and failing) when the memory spell cast to give Connor a regular childhood breaks. There's one incident in particular that Lorne is dismayed to find out isn't real: the Angel Investigations epic bonding pool party.





	The Angel Investigations Epic Bonding Pool Party

**Author's Note:**

> Frame narrative set in episode 5.18 "Origin"; middle bits set a few months after 3.19 "The Price" (though those are definitely AU).
> 
> Warning for mentions of Cordy and Fred's canon deaths (just like that they happened, no details). Also, Connor doesn't appear on page but he's discussed enough that I figured I might as well tag him too.
> 
> Okay so I had the idea for this today at work and now there's a fic. I love it when this happens <3 Thanks to greenmonstermash for encouraging me, ilu <3 <3 And now it is so late, soooo late and I must sleep. Enjoy!

Krevlornswath of the Deathwok clan is drinking a sub-par Sea Breeze and contemplating just going home. He can make a better version of his favourite cocktail than this. For a lot cheaper than $14.99 a glass too. But he has a client coming in a few minutes, and though it is a stupid, useless, _pathetic_ gesture, he isn't cashing his pay cheques from Wolfram & Hart anymore. Not since... Fred.

Lorne takes another gulp of his drink and grimaces. The faint but unmistakable taste of dish soap. Well, at least he knows the glass is clean.

The wave of magic hits him like an eighteen-wheeler running a red light. A cacophony of images, sounds, emotions drowning out the here-and-now and taking him back to the there-and-then. He breaks out of it with a gasp.

Connor. Angel's son. Baby, then gone, then teenage incarnation of rage, then father to an eldritch horror, then... erased? Gone anyway. The newest of these new-old memories are months old. It's going to take a while to sort through all of the intense and terrible emotions they've opened up inside him.

Oddly, it's a relatively minor incident that has Lorne shaking his head like he has water in his ears. “Wait, wait,” he says to the air, “Does that mean we never actually had the pool party?

~

_Ten months previously (false memory)_

“If there is even _one_ clear, wobbly, inter-dimensional demon-y thing in that pool, all of you are dead to me,” Cordelia warns the room at large. She's stunning in a royal blue bikini, big sunglasses with matching blue frames pushed up on her head. She is fully committed to the aesthetic, even though they are indoors at 9:30pm on a Wednesday. It's just one of the many, many things Lorne loves about Cordy.

“It's clean, I promise,” Angel says, “Rubbing alcohol flushed through the whole system before I even started repairing the tile.”

Fred snaps her fingers. “ _That's_ what the smell is.”

Angel looks suddenly crestfallen. It makes Lorne want to cuddle him. “You can smell it?”

“It's not bad!” Fred rushes to reassure Angel. “It smells like hospitals or like... dentists!”

“My pool reminds you of _dentists_?”

“Cordelia, is that the swimsuit you wore for that sunscreen commercial?” Wesley asks, quickly. Lorne winces slightly from his spike of anxiety. It's harder to be around Wes lately, he's been tenser than his usual tightly-wound self. Not that Lorne can blame him. The man has no luck in the romance department.

Cordy shoots him an incredulous look. “No, Wes, of course it isn't. That thing was _hideous_. And too small.”

“You were in a commercial? On TV?” Fred asks.

“No, they fired me. I had a vision in the middle of the shoot. Flailing and screaming: not exactly the happy beach atmosphere they were looking for.” Cordy smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes.

“Oh,” Fred says, “That's too bad.”

Cordy shrugs gracefully. “The director was horrible anyway. Angel asked me if I wanted him to rip off the guy's head.”

“You should have heard the way he was talking to Cordy!” Angel protests. “You would have done the same.”

“Angelcake, I don't think Freddikins is much for the ripping off of heads,” Lorne says.

Fred nods seriously.

“Ain't we here to swim? Why are none of you in the water?” Gunn asks, from the doorway. He's fashionably late, but the sight of him shirtless in dark green swim trunks is worth the wait.

From the hush that falls in the echoing room, everybody else agrees with Lorne.

“Damn,” Cordy whispers.

Wesley clears his throat, chokes halfway through, and starts coughing. Angel whacks him companionably on the back, probably a little harder than necessary. Both of them are still fully clothed, though Angel has black trunks on.

Fred uncurls from her perch on a lounge chair and skips over to Gunn. Her multicoloured flower-print one-piece has definitely seen better days but she's still cute as a button. “We were waiting for you, silly,” she coos and stretches up to kiss him on the cheek. It's deeply adorable.

Gunn smiles down at her. “Let's get this party started then.”

Lorne presses play on the stereo he brought. The iconic opening notes of P!nk's “Get The Party Started” ring out across the water.

~

The pool party is a resounding success. Angel has done a beautiful job restoring the hotel's long-abandoned pool into a thing of beauty. Of course, Lorne had to help him with the colour scheme. Left to himself, Angel would doubtless have created a gothic cave, complete with dripping stalactites. Or worse, a bland beige monstrosity.

Lorne's ad hoc swim-up bar, three bottles expertly balanced on a wobbly second-hand surfboard, fulfills its purpose of getting _everyone_ into the water. Even Wes, though he keeps his shirt on. It's white and basically transparent when wet so nobody bothers to make him take it off.

Singing along, or in some cases _around_ , to popular tunes like Backstreet Boys' “The One” eventually devolves into a drunken game of truth or dare. Lorne inevitably picks truth for himself. He works with these people so he knows better than to accept dares from them. None of them have a healthy sense of self-preservation.

“Lorne, Lorne, Lorne!” Fred calls. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth, crumpet.”

“Which of us do you like the most?” she asks, grinning.

“I love all of you, of course,” he says.

That brings on a ragged chorus of 'we love you too' from the group that is as heartwarming as it is intoxicated.

“No, but,” Fred says, slowing down and peering with great concentration at Lorne's face, “Who would you date? Of us?”

“That's two questions, cupcake,” Lorne says.

“You gotta sing then!” Gunn chimes in. They've worked out that the forfeit of the game is singing, though in Angel's case, it's more of a punishment for everyone else than for him. Lorne has been very firmly _not_ focussing on discerning anyone's life path. The alcohol is helping numb his empathic gift a little, so all he can feel now is a warm sense of belonging.

“Fine, fine. Angel,” Lorne says.

“What?” Angel asks, like Lorne is calling him for something.

“That's my answer,” Lorne says. He is not embarrassed, he's _not_. This isn't how he imagined this conversation going but it's out there in the universe now.

“Oh,” Fred says.

“ _Oh_ ,” Gunn and Wes say at the same time.

“Is this supposed to be a surprise?” Cordy asks, looking around. “Guys, he _moved in_ like months and months ago.” She and Angel had a... thing for a bit. A potentiality. But Cordy's made it clear lately that she's done pining after unattainable guys. Angel has been taking it very well.

“This is all hypothetical, kittens,” Lorne says, hastily. “No worries, Angel. I'm good.”

“Uh,” Angel says.

“It's fine,” Lorne reassures him.

“It's just that I...” Angel trails off.

“I _know_ ,” Lorne says.

Angel keeps going anyway. “I don't really date...” He pauses. “Anybody.”

“And I'm not asking you to,” Lorne says, even though part of him, the dumb, sappy part, was sort of hoping. But he really already knew what the answer would be. Why would Angel be attracted to him anyway?

“Fred, ask me the question,” Angel says, abruptly.

She stares at him blankly.

“I'd pick you,” Angel says, dark eyes locked on Lorne's red ones. It's really intense.

“Huh?” Lorne says, intelligently.

“I can't...” Angel gestures helplessly. “I can't take the chance but. If I could, it'd be you.”

The sincerity in his every word makes Lorne want to _weep_. All he can manage to say in response is “Thanks.”

“Aww,” Fred says, grinning. “That's so sweet.”

“Does that mean you're...” Wesley asks, delicately.

“I don't really have a word for it,” Angel says, glancing over to him. “I just find a lot of people attractive, I guess.”

“Pansexual is my word for it,” Lorne says, regaining a little of his composure.

“Mine too,” Gunn murmurs. Fred smiles at him, clearly unsurprised.

Wesley clears his throat. “I, uh, prefer queer myself. It covers all of the... uncertain ground.”

“Oh my god. I'm the token heterosexual, aren't I?” Cordy asks. “This is like high school all over again.”

“Wait, is Buffy—” Angel starts to ask then cuts himself off. “No, don't tell me, I don't want to know.”

“My turn for the game,” Lorne quickly says, as Cordy opens her mouth, “Gunn, muffin, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Gunn says, catching on as quickly as ever.

~

Angel originally just wanted everybody to come _see_ the pool when it was finished but Lorne convinced him to have a party. He never expected it to become such a pivotal bonding experience for the team.

It still seems so real. Now, with the real memories bouncing around in his sore head, Lorne remembers that the clear, wobbly, inter-dimensional demon-y things were there because Angel tried black magic to bring baby Connor back, ripping a hole in reality. That Wesley figured out the demons' weakness and helped the team, even though Angel had tried to kill him before and the entire team had shunned him when he was hurt. That everything was terrible all the time. Like now, with Cordy and Fred both gone.

Lorne doesn't know _why_ they'd been given false memories but really, it doesn't matter. There is only one question he wants the answer to.

Much later that night, Angel finally _finally_ picks up his phone. “What is it, Lorne?” He sounds exhausted.

“Do you remember the pool party?” Lorne asks.

“That was fake, a fabricated memory,” Angel says.

“So you _do_ remember it,” Lorne persists.

“Yes. I had them give me a false copy too, so I could keep up the lie.”

Somehow, Lorne is completely unsurprised that Angel did the whole thing on purpose. He already wishes he could forget the real memories. “So, would you?” he asks.

“Would I what?”

“Truth or dare,” Lorne says.

“Lorne, how could that possibly matter now? It's a fake memory. We left the pool boarded up, the party never happened.”

So. That's the answer. Lorne takes a deep breath, ready to move on, and a pastry pet name is on the tip of his tongue when Angel says, “But that part was... true. Would have been true.”

The stunned shock is exactly how he remembers it. “Thanks,” Lorne finally says.

“You're welcome,” Angel says, a hint of irony in his voice. “Will you come back to the office? I know it's... but we could use you here.”

“You got it, Angelcake,” Lorne says softly, and ends the call.


End file.
